Twisting Signals
by iStoleYurVamps
Summary: Not every signal means what it should. Sometimes, you have took further then that. Or sometimes, ignore them altogether. HiruMamo with a side of SuzuSena. M for Porns/smut. R&R. Critique WELCOME. SRSLY. OC FREE! Ch 5 is up
1. Would you take it back?

He was quite sure that she didn't notice.

That, or, she hadn't bothered to do research further then she had to.

Hiruma wasn't one to really care, per se, but, he found it slightly amusing that Mamori hadn't taken the time to research what her hand signals really meant in sign language. He had told her to come up with a signaling code, and had suggested she look at a modified version of sign language. He didn't think however, that she would use actual signs and just turn their meaning around, or, not bother to figure out what they really meant.

For one thing, the signal for 'kid' was actually a short version of 'airplane'. Mamori's signal for 'long pass' was actually 'cheese' combined with 'hat'. And her hand signal for 'change player positions' was, in all truths, 'screw me tonight'.

During a scrimmage with the Cupids, Hiruma had almost started laughing when she had used the signs combined with the actual signs for 'later' and 'hot'. Almost, being the key term.

When she had first handed him the print out of the signals and their meanings, his face had held up. He hadn't laughed. He hadn't told her differently. Hiruma had just stood there and taken in the information. That was how it had to be. He had to keep calm when she signaled him from the sidelines. It was his job to relay the information or modify it to the next play. The job wasn't to start laughing. It wasn't to imagine Mamori under him. That wasn't how things were. At least, not for a while. Not until he could focus on her rather than the game.

Sacked. He had taken .7 seconds to long to make the long pass.

"Fucking fatty!" His voice sounded like knives. It was his just reward for yelling drills at the team while the damn drunk was suffering a hangover. "Are you fucking stupid? The damn shits are pushing you around. Hold. The. Fucking. LINE!" He was screaming now. His throat felt like Cerberus had bitten it.

Another signal from her. 'sleep with self/me now'. Literal translations. His mind was buzzing. Not right. The correct translation, the one she meant, was 'stop yelling, get (in) positions'. That was it. Smart. She was smarter then he gave her credit for. Though the Devil Bats may be up by a few points, that didn't mean he could waste time. Who knew when his ace might fall over, his leg injured? Or if the fucking goatee screwed up so bad it resulted in a turnover?

He sighed. It felt like this a lot. He liked being in control, he disliked having to nit-pick his teammate's actions. At least the damn shorty and monkey could do well on their own. He didn't always need to bark orders at them. Half the time they went with what was best, relying on instinct.

"The next play is going to be a sweep. Don't fuck it up this time." His eye rolled over to Kurita. Sometimes, he was too nice for his own good. They were playing the cupids to boost morale, not 'have fun'. They had a 99% chance of getting over 30 points in the first half. 99%. But if Kurita kept holding back as not to beat the cupids too badly, Hiruma's plan for team moral would fail. One percent was all they needed. It was still a chance.

He signaled to her, 'sweep'. It wasn't right. 'Bed.' He had signaled bed. The hell was wrong with him. With her? His mind was buzzing again, his voice felt like it was ripping away at his lungs. "Set, Hut, HUT!" There. The two shorties could do the rest of the work. It was nice to know at least they wouldn't hold back.

Half time. Game over. It seemed too soon. 70-0. They had over a 80% chance that they would score over 100. Kurita had held back. The monkey had shown off. Damn goatee had screwed up and caused a turnover. He took out his semi-automatic at shot at them. Demands. Yelling. He never got tired of it. It gave him a thrill to see them so scared of him. He wouldn't really shoot them, but, the fear was still present that he might.

They were too valuable to shoot. Ace running back, ace receiver, ace lineman, ace after ace after ace. Sometimes he wondered if that made him an ace. Ace quarterback. Commander from Hell. The second suited him better.

"-feeling good?" Her voice was soft. Kind of like ice to a hot patch. His voice felt like it was killing him from the inside. "What did you say fucking manager?"

Her face made the expression he adored so much. It was a mix between a scowl and a smile. She had he way of dealing with him. He didn't mind it. "I asked if you were feeling good. You haven't quite been yourself today." He glared. How? He felt fine. Minus his throat and leg and arm and the damn sexual frustration she made. Thank the gods American football required cups. If it didn't she'd have seen the salute ages ago.

"I'm fine, fucking clucking hen." Lies. He didn't like lying to her. She saw through them to easily. Besides, it was more fun to give her half-truths.

"Well, alright." Her legs took her father from him. His mind buzzed like an angry hornet. He had to stay seated on the bench analyzing the data. Not much time before he got distracted or had to move. The data was too important.

It started to rain.

Club was spotless. Time was moving too fast today. The rain sounded like musical drums in his head.

Dark outside. The team was heading home. She was staying to finish her half of the game analysis.

He shook his head. She said nothing, but made her 'I'm worried about you face, but, I won't ask.'

It was his face. The one she had for him. Her gift to him. She never made the face at anyone but him. It didn't make him feel special.

She made a hand signal to him. 'Go chicken lost confused.' Not correct. 'Making coffee, want any?'

He made one back. 'Black.' Correct hand signal. Her face was confused.

"I don't know that one." Mild confusion, she could figure it out.

"Then you damn well better do your research next time!" Yelling at her. He wasn't like this. She was afraid. That face again. His face. The one that she always made, just for him. The coffee tasted bitter. He welcomed the harsh wake up. While it scalded his mouth, his lips, his tongue, he welcomed it. His throat felt like crap.

"I'm sorry." Quite apologies. No sound followed.

"Forgiven." Silence filled the space like a heavy fog.

"Does it always have to be like this?" Soft question. Did he want a hard answer?

"No." She sat next to him. "It doesn't." Who said it first? Did it matter?

"The signals you use for 'change player positions'…"

She made them. With her hands "You mean these?" Mamori's hands were small compared to his.

"Yes, those signals." He stood up and poured himself another cup of coffee. He knew he would need it.

"Do you know what it means?" She shook her head.

He took a sip. Grinds. He hadn't noticed he had gotten the last bit of the coffee. He looked at the machine. It was outdated. Needing to be replaced.

"They mean, literally, 'screw me tonight'." Her face was flat. Seconds ticked by before a red tingle arose to her cheeks.

"You're lying." Her voice held malice, or, as much malice as her small frame could muster.

"Do I have to prove it?" He had already. Flipping over his laptop, images of the signals and their meanings filled the screen.

Her face reminded him of apples. Or Cherries. Fruit in general.

"I never..oh god…I…" Hiruma knew what would come next. "I'm sorry. Oh…god, I'm sorry Hiruma, I'll go back and change them and…" She turned to leave. Her jacket was on. He wanted to…

"Would you take it back if you could?" His question hung in the air, she didn't move.

Her lips moved as she left, closing the door behind her. The sound of rain washed over the noise of everything.


	2. Love to Hate

AN: After like…what was 5 Reviews, I discover people LIKE my poor fanfiction. That's nice and all, but, really. If you see some errors, or you just think I'm going into the OOC zone. Let me know. I'm not here for 'OMG I LUV DIS MOAAAR'. I'm here to…well…I'd like to improve my spelling, grammar, ect. Is all, (I just found out spell check will not validate 'fucking' as a word. Excuse any 'auto-corrects' to 'quacking'.)

PS: I want to make a fic of Gaou... Y/N? (IN B4 GAY WITH MARCO PLEASE. I'm sorry, but, I don't hate yaoi, it's just the fact that GaouxMarco makes no damn sense…at all.)

**WARNING! **Contains Hiruma dirty thoughts and jacking off. You know it's happened. I'm just saying what went down. So, yeah, **rated M. **Enjoy your smut/porn.

New day. New problems.

First problem: Fell asleep at club house. Kink in neck. Its eight am. Fucking Shrimps are NOT at practice. Equipment hasn't been moved since last practice. Not even cleaned. Manager isn't doing her job….(okay, it multiple problems packed into one, he doesn't care, it's still _his_ problem).

Hiruma isn't doing his job either.

He sighs and rubs his head.

Next problem: Fucking manager's reply. Didn't hear it. He wants know. More than that, Hiruma wants to just have things clean. She won't clean the club if he's in it.

He looks at the old coffee machine. Its timer went off. He didn't set it to go off. Mug is next to it, face down, on top of a note. He wants to get up and read it, but, the table is very comfortable.

He gets up, he wants to go back to the table. The table doesn't make him walk to places.

"I meant what I said last night.-M."

He wants to remember what she said. He can't. "Fucking rain." Mother Nature either didn't want Hiruma to know and feel disappointed, or, she didn't want him to get laid.

_He_ wanted to get laid…badly. The manager was usually the quarterback's girlfriend anyway. Hell, almost every ace had a girlfriend, and for the QB, it was usually the manager.

But since when was Hiruma _normal? _

He poured his cup of coffee, still hot, no grinds. She was the one person who could make coffee with this machine…..and he hated it.

He hated the fact she had become such a deep aspect of the team. Mamori protects Sena, Sena has to piss her off pretending to Eyeshield. She finds that he _is_ eyeshield, and cries. Stops. Cries more after the game. Cries on his _fucking best shirt_. His _best_. It was cashmere and she fucking cried on it. He hated it….

But he loved it. He could go and gather information on other teams, knowing she would make sure the damn pipsqueaks would practice under her command. He had no doubt that she would map data in minutes if she had too. She could pick up on things only expert players and analysts could. She could do everything.

Coffee making included.

And _he fucking LOVED IT._

_LOVED._

**LOVE.**

Hiruma could not, in any way, shape, or form, LOVE Mamori. Her, or her godly coffee making skills. Too many problems. Hiruma rubbed his forehead, sitting back down, half a mug of coffee in his left hand.

He listed why he could not love Mamori on his laptop.

1-She was his manager. And while it was common for the manager and quarterback to date, or even fuck, it was typical for emotions to get in the way. His goal was winning. Emotions came after that.

2- She was too much a symbol to both his team. If they dated, or even had casual sex, her image as 'his' would make the teams moral plummet. They needed all the moral they could get. They needed as much as they could hold to win.

3-She did domestic work and didn't mess with his shit. If she became his, she might mess with his shit. He didn't want anyone to mess with his shit.

4-She had better offers, ones that would not fuck with the team's moral.

Hiruma made a side note to his last entry on the list.

'So long at its not the damn dreads or any other rival player……mainly fucking dreads.'

He smirked. Who was he kidding? She may be slow sometimes, but, she wasn't blind…at least, he hoped she wasn't that blind. If she was…Hiruma huffed. Dreads would pull one over him that he would never live down. He shook his head.

Painful, his neck still was cramping.

6-While it might be fun for a while, in the long run, they would only grow apart

This was true. It was a slim chance in hell that the two of them would make it to 6 months, let alone a year. And not to mention, the fact that college killed over 50% of high school relationships. While he still had a 50% success rate, it was more like 0% given the personality differences that they had.

0%.

Zero.

Nothing.

No way.

Zero Per-fucking-cent.

He took a sip from his mug. Empty. Re-filled it.

Hiruma looked at his computer screen. The light illuminated the otherwise dim room. It gave his world a blue hue, shadows mingling with light. His cock twitched as he added the last entry.

"7-I love her."

He can't love.

Not her.

Not the manager.

However, his cock disagreed. He shifted his hips, thinking of the fucking fatty.

Erection: 0, Hiruma: 364.

Each time his mind went to her, he got a damn boner. This time it had taken a little over 10 minutes.

He was grateful that in American football, men wore cups.

And…another image.

This time the memory of her bandaging his leg on the death march… Her mouth so close to his damn groin…Her warm breath hot and slow, right on his inner thigh…Those lips in that sexy pout she would make just for him…He hadn't shaken his knee to piss her off. He had to hide his fucking horny cock.

"Fucking manager."

Full blown erection now. Fucking fatty…

"SHIT." He groaned. Pain flashed in his head as he felt his cock remind him of what, or rather, who it wanted.

Hiruma grunted and closed his laptop. The blue world he had grown accustomed to turned dark, the yellow of the sun glittering in from the tiny window.

He shuffled to the bathroom. Locked the door.

"Fuck…" he groaned as he unzipped his fly. Sometimes, he wanted to just cut his dick off. It was getting in the way….

But not today, hell, he might use it…eventually.

He pulled is prick from his black boxers.

Erection: 1, Hiruma: 364

"Oh…shit." He hissed through his teeth. The score had changed. He was too far gone. When then hell had he become this bad at controlling his own body? Maybe a work-out would-

"Ah...FUCK!" his fist slammed into the wall. No, bad. Think about how to solve this. Normal boner killers were useless. Which left…

He'd have to jack off.

In the clubhouse's bathroom.

Which the very girl he had a boner for would clean when he left.

Checking his watch Hiruma slammed the toilet seat down. 30 minutes until he had world history class. One of the few classes he liked.

He sat down on the toilet and pictured the manager in his mind. His right hand pumped at the base of his cock, the other was holding onto the handicap handle bar.

He loved how she would give him that face…How easy it would be to just bend over and kiss her on those full, pouty lips. Sucking at her tongue, biting maybe even.

He pumped faster.

Her tits…shit, who was he kidding, she had the best pair in all of Deimon. A 28 C cup. Not big, not small. Perfect to grab and tease. He pictured her nipples peaking out. They had when they were at the beach. God, that bikini. He could have just pulled her aside then and there and fucked her then.

Hiruma grunted, pre-cum dripping onto his hand.

She would be hesitant, he knew that. Hell, he would be hesitant too. Soon enough though, she'd get over it. She'd start with playing with his cock, licking, sucking…eventually, she's try to deep throat him. He knew she would never get it on her first try. Dismayed, she'd stick to licking and sucking his head. Sooner or later, he'd tell her to titty fuck him. Those tits rubbing around his cock as she sucked the drops of pre-cum down…

His cock was slick, his pre-cum had made sure of that.

She would stop when he told her too, his body unable to take the sweet lips around his cock without blowing his load onto her face. He wanted to. God that would be fucking amazing. To cover her face in his jizz. No…no, he would wait for another time. This time he'd have her in control. She'd be wet, ready for him. He'd guide her down on his cock, grunting as her sweet pussy took every inch. He'd pop her cherry fast, muffle her scream with his lips. Then…they'd fuck. Up and down. He tits would bounce as he thrust into her pussy, hell, he'd probably smack her ass. Up...down…up…down…

"Oh..fuck….damn..it…Mamori…ANEZAKI. OH FUCK MAMORI ANEZAKI." It felt like his cock exploded onto his hand. Hiruma watched through half lidded eyes and his cum shot out and decorated the door in front of him.

Panting, he tried to stand…no good. His hand job had seen to his energy.

Waiting…waiting to get his head together. Both of them.

Finally. He cleaned himself off, (not to mention the door). Looking at his watch, he sighed. 10 am. Too late for class. He might as well skip and work on the play sheet.

Time passed.

Lunch time.

No bento.

For once, he would have liked to have gotten bento from a girl.

Once.


	3. Pre Practice Prep

**AN:** Thanks for the critiques guys. I REALLY appreciate them. But I have a few questions. At the end of this chappy, please take the time to answer them. Also, I'm typing with a band-aid on my finger so…spelling errors…possibly a lot. My bad.

**WARNING! **Contains Hiruma. That is all.

As the day ended, and Hiruma felt less tense, cloud began to roll in from the horizon. Rain and wind wouldn't stop the devil bat's practice, but, it would mean that before practice they'd all have to converge in the clubhouse.

Which meant that all the guys would be there.

And chances were, one of them would need to piss before Hiruma had them doing drills.  
Hiruma ran the numbers in his brain.

At the moment he had a 5% chance of being ousted as the one to have jacked off in the bathroom. Most guys wouldn't notice the white smudge or the vast amount of wadded up toilet paper. Only Musashi and Yukimitsu would. On the chance it was Musashi did notice the wads, he's know what it was, and would give Hiruma hell. Yukimitsu would know also, but, Hiruma could always intimidate the balding played into keeping his trap shut. The Ha-Ha brothers would also figure it out, any one of them would, but, they would just keep it to themselves. They knew their place…

As for Mamori…

If Hiruma prayed, he did so with a scowl and a fierce denial in his heart. She would notice, but, she wouldn't know. She might guess, but, she'd never know. She was too innocent for that. And while he may be the devil, the manager always thought the best of him…

Even if it was true half of the time.

Kicking the door open to his locker, (inside the main school of course), Hiruma rummaged around for his…'kit.'

It wasn't something he really thought he might ever use. At least not because of her.

The 'kit' might be more thoroughly described as a safe sex kit. It contained morning after pills, anti-contraceptives, condoms of various sorts, and lube; the works really. Hiruma had never used it, at least not for himself. Many times, he'd sell the condoms and pills out to…active students. Getting both cash, and, potential blackmail information. It was a profitable venue for him, but, for today…

He ran his fingers down the condoms. Each one put in place on size, texture, and any other additions. It took him about a minute to find what he was looking for. The small, square package seemed almost like a great comic joke, laying in his hand. That something so small, and so simple, could utterly define a person's life.

If you had it, you could get up and move on.

If you didn't…

Your life could be turned upside down and become a twisting, wretched path.

He sighed and closed the kit, putting back under his books.

Hiruma had 30 minutes until practice would start, and, if he was right, it meant that his teammates were already heading to the locker room to change. Another sigh. Placing the plastic square in his back pocket, Hiruma kicked his locker shut. He didn't want to face his team. Or rather…

He didn't want to see his manager who he knew would be with his team.

Each step he took got harder to make. He made his pace faster, in a vain attempted to cloud out the mental anguish, but, in the end, it still took him four minutes and 12 second to reach the club house.

His signature door opening technique alerted everyone inside just who is was.

"Oi! Fucking fatty! Why the hell aren't you in uniform!" His voice was still throbbing from the last game. Well, it was his own fault.

"Oh, Hiruma! We were just talking about our upcoming game with th-" The large second year was his usual, happy self.

"DOES IT LOOK LIKE I CARE?" He brought out an uzi and let the semi-automatic shoot the bullets for him. "GET IN YOUR DAMN UNIFORMS!" His eyes scanned the room before he aimed his gun at the three smallest members of the team. "ALL OF YOU!" The midgets ran for the door, (baldy had gunned for it long before any them), followed by the three brothers, then the idiot, the fatty came next, and then…

"Saw the mess in the bathroom."

Hiruma's eye gave a slight twitch.

"Next time, use bleach and not water to clean it up. Also…" the enigmatic kicker angled his head at the manager, "she found it, not me."

Hiruma wanted to punch him. "Fucking old man, what the hell are you talking about? Finally going senile? Kekeke…" The kicker smirked and walked to the lockers.

Which left the quarterback alone with the manager and the cheerleader.

"Oh, You-nii! I forgot to tell you, my brother won't be at practice tomorrow. He has to take a tutoring class. Well, better get those cheers ready!" The short, almost flat chested girl skated her way out, smiling. Hiruma did give her credit though. She may not be as subtle as he was, but, she was damn smart…Even though he sometimes wished she wasn't.

Now….now, he was alone with his manager.

Correction, she wasn't his.

He sighed and went to his laptop, opening it up and checking for any updates. Conveniently, his back was to her's and she was on the other side of the club house.

Silence.

Mintues ticked by.

The sound of keys clicking and scratches on paper timed with the breaths of two people provided all the noise that was present.

To an onlooker, it might have sounded quite, to Hiruma, it was a cacophony he did not desire.

"Hiruma…" her voice over rode the mixing sounds, the way a wind chime would be heard even in a thunder storm. It was soft, almost gone, but…you could still hear it, as clear as day.

"What?" He gave a slight cough. 'Shit.' He swallowed his saliva. His throat had taken a beating…yet, he knew it would have to take another hit soon enough.

A sigh. He turned to face her and ask again.

She was gone.

On the counter, steam rising, a cup of lemon tea sat.

Another note.

'Next time, try not to be so loud.'

**AN:**

A few questions regarding Twisting signals, some of which I NEED an answer too.

1-Do you want sex in one of the next chapters, or, more smut, (like in the last chapter)?

2- Was this too short? It seemed that way to me.

3-I AM DOING A GAOU FIC. I..just don't know what pairing. It will be a Hetro (GuyxGirl) pairing, but, I don't know which one. What would you want to see? AND NO, MARCO AND KISARAGI, AS GIRLY AS THEY MAY BE, DO NOT COUNT AS WEMEZ.

4- Should I do a one-shot? And I if I do do a one shot, of who and what?

5- One-shot, X-mas special. Y/N?


	4. I Care So Much

**AN:** PISHPOSH. I can do two christmas specials! I'm MAGIC like that. SRSLY. I have the one done (pretty much), so PEOPLE, tell me what you want to see in an X-mas special. Smut? Porn? Fluff? HiruMamo? HiruRui? COME ON. I need ideas! ;D

**WARNING! **Contains slight abuse; mental, physical, and maybe sexual?

He looked at the note. Taking his cup of lemon tea, unsweetened, his mind began listing the reasons he was an idiot.

The_ first_ reason was the fact that he hadn't bothered to be quite when he jacked himself off.

The **second** reason he was a moron was the fact he had called out her name.

The third reason…."Tch…fucking manager." Was the fact she had most likely seen the evidence of his actions.

"Bleach and not water…fucking old man…" He sipped his tea. While it did help his sore throat, it only made his ego drop further.

"Fucking manager…" he finished the tea in a final swig. Setting the empty cup back on the counter, he began the task of putting away his laptop and getting ready for practice.

Mentally ready at least.

How was he supposed to face her? Did they just ignore the fact she had found out he had jacked off to her? Did they have to? Part of Hiruma wanted the sexual tension. It meant that she felt something for him. Even if it was awkward, at least he'd get a damn reaction. All the note did was tell him that she was aware of his…

"Fucking teenage hormones. Fucking prick…fucking football…" He set the laptop in his clubhouse locker.

"….ARG!" He kicked at the bench, sending it into the wall. He was no kicker like Musashi, but, he could still do damage. He took his rage out on the bench, foot slamming at it.

Another kick.

Pain in his foot.

He didn't care, he wanted to vent.

"Fucking American Football! Fucking Clubhouse! Fucking Manager and her fucking tits and hips and FUCKING EYES!" he was yelling.

He wasn't caring.

Arms around his waist, the smell of sugar mixed with fruity shampoo.

He stopped yelling.

He stopped kicking.

He just waited for the words to come to mind.

'Go away. I don't need your fucking help.'

"I want to help you Hiruma."

'Why aren't you outside? The fucking shrimps must be slacking. Need me to scare them into work?'

"I just…"

'Go away…Just get the fuck away from me. Go make them practice. I want to be alone. '

"I don't know how to help you."

'….'

His breathing was slow; Her's was warm on his back.

He pushed her away, he didn't need warmth.

"Go make sure the fucking shrimps are at practice." He grabbed his gear and began to strip, not caring that she was watching him.

She didn't turn away.

"I already did. Musashi is watching them. I asked him to take over…I also asked that they leave you…us…alone."

His shoes were off, next were his pants. He unbuttoned them…

His hands were shaking.

"Why do you even bother? You know what I'm going to say." His voice was flat. Its mirth lost.

"I don't care." She walked closer to him.

He just slid further away.

"Good because neither do I." He slid further from he as she drew closer.

It became a game. He would slid away from her, and she would move closer.

He ran out of places to slid down on the bench.

"You do care…I care. _We_ care Hiruma. _We_ wouldn't be here if we didn't." She sat next to him. Her hand went to rest on his thigh as she continued her speech.

"We both want to win. We want to go further than ever before. You, Kurita, Monta, even Sena…How can I help when YOU WON'T LET ME? You're going to America…You're leaving me behind!" Tears were in her eyes. "How can I help you when you won't tell me how?"

His breath was deep.

He was angry.

Not at her…

At her?

At himself?

He didn't know.

"Waa-?" She was on the floor, holding her cheek. Her eyes and face were red. Hiruma stop caring. About the trip to America. About everything. Everything but her.

"DO YOU WANT TO KNOW HOW YOU CAN HELP ANEZAKI?" He was yelling at her. In nothing but his shirt and unbuttoned pants, he was yelling at her.

"STOP IT. Stop touching me! Stop telling me things will be alright! Because they won't be Anezaki! I'm going to the US. _I'M_ going. I wanted to. Hell, it was _my_ dream to go and compete at an international level. To win. To be the best. I'm NOT. I don't have anything. No special skills. No inherent talent. I'M NOTHING. NOBODY." He grabbed her by the hair and dragged her to his eye level.

She was crying.

He didn't care that she was crying.

He stilled cared about her though.

"I HATE that you tell everyone that they have a chance. They DON'T. I HATE that you _make me feel_. I can't afford to feel anything. Not now, not on the field, not ever. I HATE the fact you do all this domestic bullshit. Cleaning, cooking, and making me fucking perfect coffee after practice. I HATE it. You're fucking PERFECT. Perfect little Mamori Anezaki. Perfect fucking princess. I'm the fucking devil, I don't care about you, princess, I don't care about anyone. NO ONE." She slapped him.

He let he go, shocked.

His cheek red, her hand imprinted on it.

"I DON'T CARE ABOUT THAT!" He looked back at her. Tears ran down her cheeks. Both were red. Her lips set in that pout he loved.

"I don't care that you don't care Hiruma! **I do **care though! I care enough to lie, even when I know what I say isn't true at all! I care enough to make sure you care about the team. About others. I care enough…." She grabbed his hair and pulled him so he was eye level with her again. "I care enough for the both of us. I care enough that I won't tell anyone you care…I care so damn much Hiruma…" She sniffed, tears falling faster. "I care so _fucking_ much that I love you. Devil or not. I hate you Yoichi Hiruma. I hate you so much that I care about you to the point that I love you…" She let his hair go.

The tension from before left a slight sting.

"I love you…" He said nothing. She just stood there and let her tears fall.

"…Mamori…" he turned so his back was to her.

"I can't love you…I can't afford it. You know that…" He faced her.

"I can't afford to love you….but…" He wrapped his arms around her, not wanting to see his tears.

"I do." He let her go.

He walked out of the club and away, barefoot, his pants still unbuttoned.

He didn't look back.

He couldn't afford to.


	5. Should Not Feel This Way

**AN:** Sorry about the (OMG MEGA HUGE) delay. Thanks for your kind words. I've missed a lot of time, and as the series has ended, I want to know if you guys want this to go past the end of the America arch and into the 2 years not covered. If so, let me know what you'd like to see. R&R (It's been so long ROFL)

**WARNING! **SMUT. ;D OH YEAH. O BBY O BBY. –shot-

It was easy to find a way to bring her with him. Sure, the adults wanted to manage a team but 'Really' he said, 'It's better for us if we have a manager we know and are used too.'

So fucking easy.

She came with him. Him. When he looked over his shoulder, there she was, smiling. Even when he traveled up to the top of the Statue of Liberty, he could still see her. Heck, while he was scouting, he still couldn't get her out of his mind. It was like an infection. One that no antibiotic or shot could cure.

And in some sick way, he didn't want to be cured.

He loved the way she fought with him, drove him wild and how she just…finished him. His mind was at piece when he talked with her. When he talked to others he felt he was talking to morons, but she…she just understood. Didn't need to be told twice. It was like she knew him.

And the idea of it scared him.

His entire life, he'd never let anyone get close. He kept everyone an arm's length away. He didn't want their love, their pride, their petty hate, he wanted nothing from those people.

In that way he was like Agon.

No one could match him.

No one…

But her.

She was…no…she _is_ his. His other side. The part of himself he denied with each breath. The part of him that longed for human touch. For the weakening emotions called love. She was his vice.

Like a cigarette he just couldn't stop. He could stave off his craving, but it would never really leave. It stayed with him. Drove him wild with yearning and lust. It was his one real weakness.

But in bringing her with him…was it such a good idea? He was his one weakness, the one thing that could stop him from reaching the top.

No.  
No.  
A million times no.

She needed to be here.

Or rather, she was meant to be her, by his side.

As she sat across from him, he thought of everything.

Her smile, her constant pout, her voice, her breath, her scent, her, her her. Looking up at her, she seemed so intense at her work.

Yet another reason he loved her in his weak way. She was just like him in that respect. Always working. Always busy. Never one to stand alone, but rather, one to take charge.

It was late, the sky turned to darkness. All the lit up the sky were the city nights.

"Hiruma, what do you think of these plays? With Kid and Agon, we should be able to use them to our best advantage." Her eyes spoke of an intensity that he'd only see when on the field. She knew the stakes. The cost of failure for them.

"What do you think Anezaki?" Her name caught him her attention. Her eyes lit up, ready for an attack.

And in that moment, Hiruma couldn't bear it. They were alone. No one knew that she was with him. This room was his alone. He rented it. No one could find out.

No one would.

The sound of surprise from her lips as he pulled her into an embrace.

The gasp as he kissed her.

The soft sigh of pleasure as their tongues danced.

The silent question.

"I love you Hiruma."

How could he face those eyes? Those innocent eyes? He looked in to them and saw what he was. A man who would throw her away in an instant if it meant success. If it meant he could have it all.

But he would never do that, not to her.

Not to his other half.

A silent question, a bold statement, and a final silent kiss answered his thoughts and prayers.

She was his.

Now.

And no one would have her.

The rustle of clothes falling to the floor.

The gasp as lips touched bare skin.

The moans as hands roamed exposed flesh.

The surprise at his own body.

His gasps.

His moans.

Mixing.  
The surreal moment where he had to pull out the condom and put it on.

Her giggles at the sight of him struggling with it.

A drawn in breath.

A sc ream muffled by a kiss.

The sigh as bodies moved in darkness.

Gasps.

Moans.

Cries of Pleasure.

Names screamed into the night sky.

A moment that would be engraved into his memory.

From her kiss, to his, he would always remember.

She was his now, if only in his arms for this one moment.

"Do, you love me Hiruma?"

Reality knocked him back.

"….No."

The sound of her movements.

Clothes returned to skin.

Tears fell from her eyes, oh so accusing.

Papers gathered.

No goodbyes.

She said no words, her tears were enough.

No final kisses.

Nothing.

The moment was over.

And there, alone, he wept.

He couldn't afford to love.

What had been his was gone.

His moment had ended.

Forever.


	6. Break Through

Time seemed to move still. He could feel the milliseconds tick by. He could sense the held breaths of his teammates.

And he could hear his own heart beating in his chest.

No matter how it ended, it was going to end in a broken dream. A fading memory. One he could never hope to re-live.

And in that moment, a fragment of his dream became a reality.

Cheering, the unexpected joy he saw on the faces of his worn teammates. And in seconds, yet, so slowly at the same time, he felt like he didn't have to be himself. That he didn't have to hold it all inside. His fear, his hope, his broken and scattered dreams. Somehow…in that small play for power, he felt is all disappear with the sound of the whistle. They had come so far, and gained so much, yet at the same time, he knew the inevitable outcome.

A tie, broken by a loss. He knew it would come, later then he expected it, but, he knew it was to arrive sometime. Looking at the MVP, he felt that cold part of him harden his body, still his frame and mind. There was no doubt that the American deserved the award, and the contract, but…

The fact remained, his dream was to never become reality.

The after party made him smile, but, it was only half of what he knew it could be. Slowly, he evaded his over joyous teammates, retreating to the darkness of his hotel room. There, he felt all his emotions hit him harder than any lineman might have on the field. Hot scalding tears ran down his face, his nose plugged up with mucus, and his body trembled in his own sorrow.

He would never be a MVP.

He would never play professional American football.

He would always be an average nobody.

The sickenly sweet scent of her. It washed over him like a cloud. Looking up, he sought her comfort, only to find him as alone as he had been but moments before. His eyes scanned the semi-illuminated darkness for her. For anything that could bring her to him.

Panties.

An absurd item of her's to find under the bed, filling the air with her aroma.

Yet, the small clothe brought him a small comfort.

And reminded him of one final desperate dream.

He found her at the party's fringes, lingering outside of the main gathering, but, not quite gone. Pulling her away, he asked her to talk. Eye oh so accusing looked him in the face. An agreement of a short meeting.

Not short.

Long, and drawn out. He had brought her to him room to talk, and talk they did not.

They yelled.

Screamed.

Her anger at his cold affirmation of 'love'. Her sorrow that he couldn't share her 'love'. And his disgust at himself.

For not even being strong enough to say she was wrong.

He loved her.

He loved her in way he didn't think he was capable of.

Anger bore to silence, silence bore to his frustration. And thus, he let it go.

He ripped it from his chest.

He screamed it at her face.

Whispered it into her ear.

His most deepest emotions.

His most deepest fears.

His very existence.

He bore it for her, the only one who could make him feel.

And she grabbed it with both hands, brought it close to her and gave it what it so desperately sought.

Devotion.

Adoration.

Love.

Kisses were laid down on her sweetly scented skin. Slowly, ever so slowly, he sought out an unkissed corner of her body, covering it in his own adoration.

Slowly, he covered her body with his own. His devotion.

And then he slowed her his love.

Slow.

Soft.

Almost weak.

Yet…

It grew. It grew until they were burning in his love.

In their love.

They burned so bright, he thought she was all that was left in the world. The memories of his broken and faded dreams were gone.

She was all that remained.

"Hiruma.." Her breathless voice called out his name, and he embraced her in response.

"Please…tell me.." Her voice trembled, and his grip tightened.

"Am I just a fuck toy? Or do you even care?" Her words stung him bitterly.

He couldn't say anything.

Her tears flowed, yet this time, they seemed cold, almost natural.

As he watched her get up, he saw two scenarios flash through his mind.

He made his decision like he did often, on impulse and his success rate.

And in this case, it was a risky game of change.

Grabbing her hand, he pulled her ungracefully back into the bed, into his arms.

"…"

"What?" the question was hot, scarring.

"You're mine. My manager. My assistant. My lover. My girlfriend." He looked at her shocked face.

"But, you're also my fuck toy. " he grinned at. "And I love the fact that I got the best girl."

Pulling her close enough he could feel her breath on his lips, he said what he never been able to say.

"You're mine. For what it's worth…I love you damn it, do I have to say it so you don't forget?" Her eyes filled with warm tears. Tears of her fears broken, and her heart resolved.

"No…" She smiled and wiggled her way out of his grip. "But…It's just…I want to hear it every so often…so you don't forget."

He smiled, softly, unlike his signature devil bat grin. "How could I? With you damn perfect coffee, your perfect plays and record keeping…" He watched her wiggle under the covers, joining him. "…Your perfect ass. Tits, lips, pussy…" He kissed behind her ear, pressing his body again her's.

"And knowing it's all mine? What man wouldn't be in love?" He smiled against her neck as she yelped from the touch of his erection placed against her body.

"…You're a jerk Hiruma." She giggled softly.

"Says the girl who kept telling me to fuck her almost every game via mixed up sign language. " He could almost hear her blush.

Turning around to face him, he watched her hands move in familiar ways. Looking at her eyes, He saw the warmth.

"You sure?" She nooded.

"…This is one of the reasons I love you, hope you know that." She smiled as she spread her legs for him.

"Hiruma…" He looked up before he entered her. "yeah?"

"I love you."

"…Let me you how much I love you, princess."

And once more, he played the devil.

Just like he always had.


End file.
